There are very good reasons for the hostility that exists between me and the Beatles.  They are murderers who offended me deeply. They brutally executed the rape of my only friend and they are responsible for attempts to use my name in mass murder, the AIDS X-termination by shifting blame to me over what they claim was John Lennon’s murder.   Using Van Gogh as their tool, they copped a plea that those who they injured badly should take responsibility for their own suffering as a bid to encroach upon immortality, a status quo they control. To their chagrin, that was very nicely put, so it won’t get published anywhere, due to their blackout.   The maniacs responsible for these high crimes have made it appear a victory for the status quo, which in their minds is all that matters.

      Turn to Lennon himself and those who took up the cause and the chase, predominantly Oliver Stone.   Lennon used to muse with his smarmy, husky vocals, “nothing is real.” Interested readers of Oliver Stone, from his heavy Doors hallucinogens, to his overly graphic violent schtick, may also know about his Wild Palms Reader.  While it may seem the most dismal delusion on earth to believe Lennon could or would stage his own death after piling up a monotonous cluster of paeons to his hateful and weirdly evil wife, with her doctrine that Hiroshima was a war crime and the Japanese victims of white Imperialism in WW2, it is also totally idiotic to believe that if Oliver Stone were asked by Trump network command to come up with a fake news story so real that people were totally and nightmarishly, to out Orson Welles a War of the Worlds radio scare, to say that you are convinced by God and ethics review that he would not take to it as fly to cowpie with discretion, malice and mirth, to prove himself able to execute such a play as a professional responsibility, and ear on his belt.  When in reality it is so exactly like him to do that, that if he didn’t already, he will. At least, nothing is stopping him. It’s not like he is a moral figure. He would see it as the supreme proof of his ugliest cynicism.

      Speaking for all of them, in real terms, on the subject of JFK, David Bowie, portraying Pilate, sneered, “We don’t want to be changed.”   The status quo is the only thing that matters to them, and explains, for example, why the Kennedys didn’t get involved in the AIDS attack.   Kennedy’s murder underscores the ultimatum that binds our history to promotion of the guilty sect, understood as an elect. LBJ liked J. Edgar Hoover enough not to retire him and explained with the deranged, but typical words, “I’d rather have him in the tent pissing out,” which in my opinion also speaks for Reagan’s views about Adolf Hitler, a fact that goes far in addressing this sad farce.

         The Queers sided with the attackers and laughed, too bad, but because it is the source of confusion about the truth, that I was used in a war game that proves AIDS is an attack, and the Beatles lied to create a smokescreen, the simple facts are worth noting, a Chinatown volunteer was gunned down when someone there stood up for me about the scientific evidence of childhood beatings that the foreign English have raped and killed before to shut down, announcing themselves Papal looters of the Trust, the foreign English also hired a femme Nikita to brutalize me in an impacted nerve agent injury, so given that precedent they would in fact have used Jackie Kennedy as an up close assassin, just as they advocated for murderers who attacked me blind side.  Nothing is stopping them, not themselves, to say the least. Nothing is real means many things to them, but most of all, that their words make truth, as might makes right.

       I have been in the Kennedy research game long enough to note that there is an occult, Thule Society type involved who don’t like you to know who they are, but let on various items of evidence if they think you have worked very hard.   The prospect that the english sadist used an agency name Richard Hooke to deliver a series of manuscripts calling attention to Jackie Kennedy’s sinister behavior is a cute trick if so, making the alliance between Jackie Kennedy and Paul McCartney like a religious ultimatum to take Ringo Starr’s side in the rape of deaf Jeannie and the horrible mutilation that has damaged my ears, my bowels, my heart, my eyesight, my endocrine system, my facial nerve and so on, the terrible, Hitlerian sadism of this murder-loving Nazi pig playing Noah Virus from Casino Royale, hoping to propose a mandate of loyalty to his concept of a nuclear treaty over the ARK.